


To Lay Me Down

by azephirin



Category: Star Trek (2009), Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Bars and Pubs, Comment Fic, Crossover, F/M, Harvelle's Roadhouse, Porn Battle, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-19
Updated: 2010-03-19
Packaged: 2017-10-08 02:56:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/71972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azephirin/pseuds/azephirin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He can stay for a while.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Lay Me Down

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Porn Battle IX](http://oxoniensis.dreamwidth.org/25077.html) and originally posted [here](http://oxoniensis.dreamwidth.org/26521.html?thread=2985113#cmt2985113). Title from "[To Lay Me Down](http://artsites.ucsc.edu/GDead/agdl/tlay.html)," by Robert Hunter.

In a backwater town on a backwater planet too close to the Neutral Zone for comfort, there's a roadhouse called Harvelle's. Ellen Harvelle runs it, by herself now. She used to run it with her husband, when he wasn't out in the black for Starfleet; later she ran it with her daughter. But Bill died in the _Kelvin_, and Jo ran off and joined up the minute she got old enough, and now it's Ellen by herself, with a phaser on her hip that Chris knows she doesn't bother setting on "stun."  
  
It's the usual gang of malcontents when he walks in: traders, freighters, crankheads, and dataheads who stay low to the ground because somebody's hunting their faces, or just because they've been in deep space so long they don't remember what regular people are like. Chris is out of uniform, but they can tell, somehow, that he doesn't belong there, and they hiss when he walks in; but he doesn't bother setting his weapons on "stun," either, and besides, Ellen knows him.  
  
"What the hell are you doing here?" she says, but she lets him kiss her cheek.  
  
"Supply and refuel. Only twelve hours."  
  
"We're only two away from closing," Ellen says. "You can help clean up."

+||+||+

Clean-up crew is Ellen, Chris, and a datahead named Ash who seems to live here. Chris cocks an eyebrow at Ellen, and she shrugs. "He got kicked out of the Academy for fighting, had nowhere else to go. Besides, I've got room."  
  
After clean-up, Chris follows Ellen up the stairs and looks at the line of closed doors in the living quarters, and he thinks a family should live here, not one woman with only a datahead for probably temporary company.  
  
"You ever think about coming back to 'Fleet?" Chris tries.  
  
"Hall lights off," she says, then opens the door to her bedroom. "So what's this, Chris, you just assume you've got an invitation?"  
  
"Do you want me to leave?" he asks. "And you didn't answer my first question."  
  
"No and no, you stubborn, egotistical son of a bitch." She closes the door behind them. "Stubborn, because my answer's not going to change no matter how many times you ask. Egotistical, because, no, I don't want you to leave, but you're too damn sure of yourself."  
  
He laughs and kisses her, tangling his hands in her burnished-bronze hair. "Ellen, we've known each other way too long to dance around it."  
  
"You could at least ask before you follow me up the stairs, though," she grumbles. "All those willing yeomen must have gone to your captain-sized head." But she's starting to smile, and he kisses her again.  
  
"My yeoman's got tentacles and a floating eye where his head should be."  
  
"I hear you can do some interesting things with tentacles."  
  
He shudders elaborately. "Thank you, there's not enough alcohol in the world to erase that images that brings up."  
  
She laughs, and starts to undo the buttons of his shirt.  
  
Naked, she's a goddess, full-breasted and round-hipped. The hair between her thighs is the same color as that on her head, and he wants to drop to his knees and touch her secret parts with his fingers, taste her with his tongue. But instead he pulls her over to the bed, settles her on top of him, and rediscovers her with his hands, drawing her legs on either side of his, stroking the lines and curves of her body. He keeps kissing her, and he feels himself hardening, his cock seeking her out, but it's not time for that, not yet.  
  
Chris can feel her relaxing, sinking down onto him, and he turns them. Ellen's hair spills around her head like a sunrise, and he smiles down at this beautiful woman who, through some mistake fortune has made in his favor, chooses to share herself with him. She smiles back. Her skin is gold-kissed pink, her areolas and nipples only slightly darker, and he leans down to take one in his mouth as he finally allows his fingers to make their way down her body and brush over her clit and cunt.  
  
He starts with one finger, teasing her clit with one gentle fingertip. When she gasps and arches up, he uses two, then three until she's biting back moans. Then he slides down and puts his mouth there, licking her, moving his fingers in and out until she's coming around them, crying out. And then he licks her some more; she swears at him but then she's climaxing, and it probably does make him full of himself, but he smiles when he hears his name fight its way from her lips.  
  
Ellen wants some of her own back, it seems, because she doesn't let him fuck her immediately after that; instead she rolls them onto their sides and wraps a callused hand around his cock. The friction is delicious, especially once she slicks her skin and his with pre-ejaculate. Her touch is light on the slit and the crown, firm as she rubs the glans, and when he closes his eyes and whispers, "Ellen, please," she pushes him onto his back.  
  
She's wet and silken around him, hot as the Vulcan desert, and it's been so long—it's like he's seventeen again and fighting not to come. Finally he gets control of himself and watches her ride him slowly, luxuriantly, and he falls into rhythm with her. His hands wander her thighs, her hips, her belly, her ass, her breasts, touching everything that's revealed to him, but when she tips forward and pins his wrists to the bed, he doesn't struggle, just gives himself up to her.  
  
Her pace becomes more focused, more urgent, and Chris gives her what she needs, thrusting up inside her until she's climaxing around him in shockwaves of pleasure, gripping his wrists so hard it might—he hopes—leave bruises. And he follows, his entire body electrified, pouring himself into her, coming until his vision whites out.  
  
When he can move again, he wraps his arms around her and cradles her head against his chest. He can stay for a while, until she falls asleep, even get a few hours' rest himself, but they've got an 0900 liftoff, and he needs to be back well in advance of that.  
  
He doesn't need to set an alarm—after this many years, he wakes up when his ship needs him.

+||+||+

Chris gets out of bed as quietly as he can, but Ellen rouses nevertheless. With an odd tenderness, she buttons up his shirt, and they walk downstairs together. The early-morning sun is generous to her, gleaming off her hair and illuminating her moss-green eyes, but unkind to the roadhouse, whose floor and bar are worn and exterior dilapidated in the harsh light of day.  
  
Chris shrugs his jacket on and looks at Ellen. "You were one of the best navigators we had, you know."  
  
She shakes her head. "Stubborn and full of yourself, just like I always said."  
  
"If you want to come back, Ellen—"  
  
"Chris, it's been twenty years and some since I did that. I'd be basically learning from scratch." She nods skyward and adds, "My little girl may be up in the black, but she'll always have somewhere to come home to. Always."  
  
He gets on the hoverbike and she kisses him one last time. When he looks back, she's already inside—she never watches him ride away.


End file.
